Pat Rile had noticed something different about her partner. On the positive side, he was less of a sexist asshole and much less of a slob in the patrol car and around the station. On the negative, he just wasn't kicking ass and taking names on the street anymore. He would still try and bluster, and sometimes he got by on reputation, but it was hollow and the bad guys were starting to catch on. She took another bite of her fish sandwich (recently she had switched to fish sandwiches for lunch) and wondered how long it would be before she would be looking for a new partner.
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Mike Hernandez carefully pulled the shades down on all the windows, taping them shut so that no light could come through. He turned off all the phones. Trembling, he unlocked the safe with the costume and cleaning supplies in it. At least, he thought grimly, since this thing started, I have a cleaner apartment. He stripped, and put away his clothes. As alternating waves of ecstasy and shame flooded him, he put on the maid's uniform that he had driven a hundred miles away to buy, paying with cash.
The middle-aged man in the maid's uniform looked in the mirror and curtsied with surprising grace. "Yo soy Consuela" he said "What are Madame's orders?"